The Butterfly Effect
by celticmusebooks
Summary: History has way of repeating itself in the most unexpected ways. A story of love, family, and family secrets. With extreme gratitude to my ROCKSTAR beta DJINN1.
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

Roma Antiqua

Italia

Earth

The cacophonous thunder of ancient church bells announced the evening as Christine arrived at the Ponte Sant'Angelo. The seven-year-old girl loved the old bridge, lined with crumbling marble angels that connected her home in the Borgo district with her father's archeological dig site in Vaticano. She stopped at the Angel with the Crown of Thorns, her mother's favorite and the meeting point she'd established with her father.

She set down the woven basket holding the pasta and bread her mother had prepared. Christine hoisted herself up on to the cool travertine railing and watched the gentle flow of the Tiber as it journeyed through the largely uninhabited city of Roma Antica. Gathering up a handful of the lustrous marble chips, she tossed one into the murky water below. She watched as the rippling waves radiated out in response to the incursion of the pebbles, the perfect concentric circles gradually altered by the gentle flow of the cool river water.

"It's called the Butterfly Effect."

Christine turned to find Doctor Roger, her father's assistant, standing behind her. She liked her father's young intern, and had listened with rapt attention to his stories of starships and the exotic alien worlds and technologies he'd seen.

"Butterflies, Doctor Roger?"

Korby smiled warmly as he took one of the pebbles and tossed it into the river. "The Butterfly Effect is a tenet of Chaos Theory, Christine. The theory posits that even small, seemingly unnoticeable changes in the initial conditions of a system can have a major, unforeseeable impact on later outcomes of said system."

Christines studied the pattern created as the new set of waves interfaced with the previous waves. "Uncontrollable variables bring unforeseen consequences."

"Correct." Korby laughed again and shook his head as he offered her a hand down from the marble railing. "You are indeed your father's daughter, Christine Chapel."

"Do you think there really are other universes, Doctor Roger? Would we still exist in those other universes as well?"

"There are some who believe that each decision made, each action taken, creates a new set of circumstances, and in effect a new universe. However, it is merely a theory. It has yet to be proven. There is much in the universe that we still need to explore…perhaps someday we will know the answer to that question. But for now the burning question is 'what's for dinner'?"

Christine waved away the proffered hand and jumped down from the railing. She retrieved the basket and handed it to him.

"It's Thursday night, Doctor Roger. It's gnocchi."

"Of course, Thursday is always gnocchi night-in this and in every possible universe that is a constant. Be careful going home, bella."

Christine watched the man's form grow smaller as he walked away into the twilight, until finally he turned a corner and vanished behind the twisted ruins of Castel Sant'Angelo. The sun had almost disappeared into the Tiber and the first faint stars of evening made themselves visible in the eastern sky. Christine picked up one last piece of the aged marble, tracing the tiny green veins with her finger then hurled it toward the canopy of twinkling stars. She heard the dull plunk as it dropped into the shallow river below. Resisting the urge to remain and watch the ripples move across the murky water, she retraced her steps back across the bridge and headed for home.

…..

Keldeen

LLangdon Hills

Vulcan

"And what of me, Spokah? I am your bond mate. What am I supposed to do?" The petite Vulcan woman rose from the carved stone bench and walked along the path though the perfectly manicured garden.

Spock struggled to repress the all too human sigh welling up within him as he rose and followed her, steeling himself against the icy bitterness of her distain flooding through their bond link.

"T'Pring," he called after her with an uncharacteristic forcefulness. "Attend."

She turned back toward him, appearing momentarily startled by his use of the traditional summons. Her perfect Vulcan features, so fragile and regally beautiful, still took Spock's breath away, despite the frigid unreadable mask he'd come to know over the past ten turnings. It was only the flash of her eyes boring into him that betrayed the anger behind that imperious facade.

"No Vulcan has every turned down an appointment to the Science Academy, Spock. It is not logical. You have defied your own father- defied T'Pau herself. Now you would tell me you leave Vulcan to join Starfleet, to live among- qomi. You bring scandal and shame to your clan, Spock, and to mine by association. It is not to be borne."

"Kroykah. What is not to be 'borne,' T'Pring, is your bigotry. Your words bring 'scandal and shame' to the principles of IDIC, to the very Tenets of Surak. This is what cannot be borne, be assured I will not tolerate it."

He became aware that he was holding her arm quite tightly. A brief flash of smug recrimination at his lack of control pulsed through the bond and he relaxed his grasp, releasing her, and then allowed himself a deep centering breath.

T'Pring bowed her head assuming the pose of the submissively obedient Vulcan bond mate. Physically she was no match for a Vulcan male were he to be roused to anger, even one who bore the disadvantage of human genes.

"I beg thy forgiveness, S'ai," she whispered keeping her eyes fixed on the carnelian colored sand that formed the garden pathway. "Tell me how am I to serve you, husband?"

"You will continue here as before, complete your studies. When the time"- he swallowed anxiously- "at the proper time, I will return."

"Not before?" She raised her eyes to meet his.

"No," he said.

"I accept thy decision, husband. I shall await thee until we meet at the appointed place," she said, slipping into High Vulcan as she recited the ritual phrase.

"The way of logic makes all things clear, my wife." He nodded tightly as he spoke the traditional response.

"Live long and prosper, Spokah."

"Peace and long life, T'Pring."


	2. Chapter 2

The pneumatic door slid open and the shuttle pilot nodded toward her, indicating this was her stop. She stepped out onto the wooden platform, hesitating as the first wave of triple digit heat rolled over her. Not surprisingly, she had been the only passenger on the small campus transport. Few Vulcans would have seen the logic in traveling at midday and as she stumbled down the rough wooden stairs she silently concurred with their good judgment.

The pilot, no doubt, thought her crazy and she would wholehearted agree with that assessment. You can still turn back, the voice of reason coaxed eagerly as the blazing sun burned down on her and the hot winds seemed bent on pulling the very life out of her. But some curious force drew her from the small landing point and down to the ancient stone pathway.

It was a trip she'd made dozens of times in the past months, yet now it felt as if she had never walked this path before. The comforting aroma of highly spiced plomek soup and freshly baked t'ikh bread from the container in her bag did little to ameliorate the feeling that this journey was destined to end badly.

"Control"—she took a deep breath—"logic makes the way of all things clear."

The small red sandstone cottages that housed the junior faculty were only a few hundred meters down the path, and she found the level of her anxiety rising incrementally as she drew nearer to his quarters.

Summoning all of her courage, she took a deep breath and pushed the chime beside the small piece of polished stone inscribed with his name. He did not respond, but she knew with an inexplicable flash of certainty that he was inside. Tracing the spidery old Vulcan script lettering with her finger, she wondered how this could have seemed like such a good idea barely an hour ago. The door, of course was not locked; Vulcans simply didn't lock doors. It was unnecessary among a people to whom it was considered unseemly to enter the space belonging to another uninvited.

She studied her reflection in the viewscreen above the chime. Clearly a mad thing, she decided, her wavy dark hair styled by the hot wind into a tangled Medusan mess, her fair skin burned from the sun, and her eyes filled with apprehension.

 _Kroykah!_ That would not do. He would, no doubt, be displeased that she'd taken it upon herself to come here; she would not compound the perceived offense with uncontrolled emotionalism.

Centering herself, she pressed the chime again, but still he did not respond. It was beyond unthinkable that she would simply open the door and enter, and yet she now found herself contemplating doing just that. It had been five days since she'd seen or heard from him. Her unauthorized, and fortunately untraceable, entry into his personal files showed that he was on some sort of unspecified medical release and had not left his quarters in that time.

Vulcan sensibilities demanded that she honor his right to privacy and withdraw immediately. Yes, that was the only logical choice she told herself, even as she palmed the door open and entered the darkened hallway.

The apartment was quiet, the only illumination the flickering flame of the asenoi he used for meditation. For the barest of moments she felt the unmistakable flash of his presence within her mind. It was not the first time she had experienced this strange phenomenon; in fact it had been happening with an increasing frequency in the past few weeks.

It had been disconcerting each time, coming with no warning. Yet it was inexplicably pleasant, his thoughts flowing through her mind, so perfectly precise, so ordered, the affect a gentle amusement with her, a warm caring regard. Affinity, it was the closest word in Standard to express the unexpected spark of understanding that would flow between them in those few moments.

But now she sensed an unfathomable fury, and unconsciously took a step back toward the entryway.

A soft, barely perceptible sound came from the far corner of the room. Roughly woven fabric, sliding over skin and in the faint light she saw his dark, slender figure rising up in one strong, fluid motion.

"T'Kirk, you do not belong here." His voice was rough, and threaded with anger.

"I was concerned for you, Stovan—I've brought some soup." She struggled to keep her voice level, unemotional, but she could not mask the alarm she felt as another flash of his anger pierced her mind's shielding.

"Concern? Ah, yes, of course, another of your qomi emotions."

T'Kirk tensed at the slur and found reciprocal fury rising within her self. "I am Vulcan, a direct descendant of Surak. You know that, Stovan!"

Stovan moved toward her. In the flickering light from the firepot she could make out his unkempt appearance and the almost feral look in his eyes. Everything within her screamed to run, but she held her ground.

"You are not fit to speak Surak's name, ashu kan'nav."

T'Kirk felt the blow as if he'd physically struck her. It was certainly not the first time she'd heard the term, a derogatory remark which apparently referred to the fact that she had been born only two years after her brother, rather than the seven year space that seemed to be the norm for the majority of Vulcan families.

"Stovan, my friend, you are unwell. Is it not logical that you allow me to help you?"

"Logical?" He moved in on her like a Le-matra closing in on its prey. "What would qomi know of logic?"

"Perhaps… if you would eat something?" she said. Hesitantly, she held out the small package of soup and bread she'd brought with her.

Closing the gap between them, he snatched the bag from her hand and with an angry roar smashed it against the stone wall behind her. Before she could respond he captured her upper arm with his free hand and forcefully pulled T'Kirk to him.

"You dishonor yourself, qomi, bringing food to a man who is not yours. You dishonor us both. You claim the lineage of Surak, but your actions are those of a common whore." He slid his hand up her arm to her throat and shoved her back against the soup stained wall. He was strong, much stronger than she was, and T'Kirk realized that he could snap her neck with only the barest effort.

He pressed himself against her, pinning her as he moved his powerful body lewdly against hers.

"Is this what you have come here for, my little qomi?" His lips brushed her ear, they were hot even for a Vulcan, and his voice was raw. He moved his hand roughly over her breasts, then slowly traveled down the front of her robes and even more roughly, moved his hand between her legs and fondled her through the light fabric.

"Stovan!"

Abruptly he released her and moved back toward the firepot.

"Go, T'Kirk." The raspy edge was gone from his voice and he seemed almost himself again.

"What is happening to you, Stovan?"

"Go now, T'Kirk You do not understand the danger in which you have positioned yourself. Go, now, while I am still able to let you go."

He turned away from her and returned to his place before the firepot.

T'Kirk took a few moments to compose herself, then fled into the Vulcan midday heat.


	3. Chapter 3

T'Kirk searched the waiting line of intraplanetary transports and found the one headed for the LLangdon Hills. Within an hour of her return to quarters the directive from the Headmaster of the academy had come over her comm unit. She had been summarily ordered to leave the Academy and return to her home until further notice. No explanation was given in the terse missive, and she was quite certain none would be forthcoming.

She hoisted her travel bag up onto the overhead rack and settled into a seat by the window. The triune suns were setting and it would be dark by the time she reached the family estate Keldeen. Though she was exhausted, she could not stop replaying the events that had led her to this day.

Stovan was her friend, her first and only real friend at the Vulcan Science Academy. It was not that the other students were unfriendly toward her, after all one could hardly snub the granddaughter of someone as powerful as Ambassador Sarek with impunity. They regarded her with a sort of polite curiosity, but rarely interacted with her outside of the classroom.

It was the ultimate irony. Growing up on Terra, she had felt like an outsider with her slanted Vulcan eyebrows and delicately pointed ears, and now on Vulcan her pale, perpetually sunburned skin and bright blue eyes marked her qomi, an offworlder. Stovan, though, had not been like the others. He was almost ten terran years her senior and had recently been given a teaching load at the VSA while he pursued advanced certifications in Xenobiology.

A chance encounter in the refectory one day had led to a long conversation, which eventually became lunch, which had gradually morphed into dinner. She sensed that he too was somehow an outsider here, though in true Vulcan fashion he'd never come out and said that directly. Vulcan discourse often depended on inference, on "reading between the lines," as her mother said. Sometimes the crucial point was in what was not said.

Stovan spoke little of his own family, though she'd gleaned that at one time they had been quite prominent until some unspeakable scandal forced them to withdraw to the margins of Vulcan society. It would explain why a man as brilliant as he had been shunted aside in favor of men of obviously lesser intellect. She herself had felt the sting of having to outperform every one of her peers before being begrudgingly admitted to the VSA.

Though Vulcans would be loath to admit it, for all of the supposed "enlightenment" and the principles of IDIC, it was the politics of the clans that controlled one's destiny here. It was not just within the Academy; politics controlled one's freedom to pursue a chosen career and even intruded into the very most private and intimate areas of a person's life.

Swathed in ritual and secrecy, bonding-the forced linking of two young minds-was, in effect, a "marriage" between seven-year-old children arranged for the mutual benefit of the two houses. It was something rarely spoken of in her own home, though she had a disturbing memory of being very young and overhearing Sarek and her father arguing bitterly over her parents' staunch refusal to allow her older brother to be bonded with a young girl from a highly regarded Vulcan family.

It was the only time she had ever heard either of the two men raise his voice, and even now, after so many years, the memory caused a tight knot to form in the pit of her stomach. _Tehvar-bosh_ , even with a five-year-old's grasp of the Vulcan language, she had understood that her grandfather was warning of danger to her brother. Sarek had stormed from the room, while Grandma Amanda held her younger brother and struggled to fight back tears.

She remembered snuggling on her father's lap on the long transport trip back to ShiKahr, an unexpected indulgence in such a public place. He had stroked her hair tenderly and told her a wonderful story about how Surak had saved the Vulcan people by showing them the ways of logic and discipline. Then he reached across to her sleeping mother and laid a gentle hand across her rounded abdomen.

"You little sister is restless this evening."

"When will she be born?" she had asked.

"At the end of Tashmeen."

Just like Solmar, her older brother. Now, many years later, for the first time T'Kirk made the connection that there were exactly seven years between the birth of her oldest brother and her sister T'Manda. Maybe her father was a better Vulcan than she'd realized.

Despite Sarek's fears, neither she, nor her siblings had been bonded and, thus far, no danger had befallen any of them. It had come as no real surprise to find that all of her classmates were bonded, and regarded her with puzzlement when she revealed that she had no bondmate. It had come as an unexplainably pleasant surprise to learn the Stovan also had no bondmate.

Her new friendship with Stovan, made her life at the Academy considerably more pleasurable. The frantic days of the fast paced and extremely challenging classwork, shifted seamlessly into leisurely dinners and stimulating discussions concerning what each had learned that day. Their meals had quickly been relocated to Stovan's cottage in the faculty housing compound. In her eagerness to explore so many new concepts and ideas with him, T'Kirk found she was not able to maintain the expected silence while eating that Vulcan decorum demanded. Though Stovan had not been offended by her break from the tradition, the stares they drew from fellow diners convinced them that for the good of the many they should find an alternate site for their joint meals.

It had grown into a comfortable relationship, each of them taking pleasure in their surprising similarities, and amused acceptance of their diverse nature and backgrounds. At least it had been comfortable, until three weeks ago when everything has started to change.

One night they'd been sitting at his firepot in a brief meditation after dinner and for a moment she'd opened her eyes and saw herself seated before the fire pot. She had reached across to the vision of herself with a large, verdigris hand that was clearly not her own. She'd blinked her eyes and she was once again looking across at Stovan, but his eyes had been unfocused and confused. She'd written it off to fatigue and the extra serving of grilled ra'daht she'd eaten at dinner.

But two days later as they were walking along the path to his cottage she'd made a rather cruel joke about one of her instructors. She felt the corners of her lips edging toward a smile and again saw herself as she walked beside him, a feeling of warm amusement flowed through her. She shook her head and saw him looking at her with a mixture of fear and confusion.

"What was that?" she'd asked him.

"I am uncertain," he had said, obviously shaken.

They had gone to his quarters and for the first time consumed their endmeal in silence. The episodes had continued with increasing frequency over the next week. Each time it had happened, she saw as if from his eyes and had a fleeting perception of his thoughts. She had tried to talk to him about what was happening between them, but he refused to discuss it and gradually she'd felt him pulling away from her. Then he'd insisted that they take their meals on campus, and was not only silent during the meal but afterward as well.

Then, five days ago, unable to bear his cold treatment any longer she had gone to his office and confronted him. He'd watched her with the same superior fascination that she'd experienced from her classmates.

"Are you quite finished?" he had asked. "I will certainly not miss the daily dose of irrational blathering." He turned his attention back to the padd he'd been studying and seemed genuinely surprised when he looked back up and found her still standing in front of his desk.

"T'Kirk, I am in your debt for your assistance with my research on the psychology of Vulcan Human hybrids, but I have more than enough data to complete the project and I will no longer require your presence."

"My presence?"

"This project has taken a good deal more of my time than I had anticipated. I need to redirect my attentions elsewhere."

He had looked back down at the padd and stunned she'd fled his office.

She had no memory of the half hour walk back to her quarters, but somehow she'd found her way there. Stripping off her uniform, she'd turned the sonic shower on full blast, then afterward wrapped herself in the silky sleep robe her parents had given her on her last birthday and cried herself to sleep.

"Kaiidith!"

She awakened to Stovan's voice, though it was clear that she was alone in the small room. For a moment she thought that it had all been a bad dream, that Stovan was still her friend. "What is, is," she said aloud, snuggling down under the soft blanket in search of sanctuary from the heartbreaking emptiness within her.

The next five days went by in a mindless blur. She began having difficulty concentrating and was plagued by a growing sense of unease, the small bit of sleep she'd managed to get was a fitful tangle of vivid dreams. That morning she'd stopped for a cup of strong tea before class and overheard a cryptic conversation between two instructors discussing Stovan's absence from campus.

It had been easy to slip into Stovan's office and use his computer to access his personal files. Having a father with a Class Seven computer certification had not been wasted on her, though she doubted he would appreciate her less than honorable application of his tutelage. Stovan's mystery illness seemed to explain everything. Of course, she reasoned with a sense of relief, the illness had somehow compromised him and he had said things he didn't mean. It had seemed like the logical conclusion.

But now she was on a transport heading away from him, from the Academy, without a clue about the chain of events that had torn her life on Vulcan to shreds


	4. Chapter 4

Not quite an hour later the transport left her at the front gates of Keldeen, the sprawling country estate her family had held for generations. She was not quite ready to face her grandfather, who would, no doubt have many questions about her unannounced arrival; so she headed out to the guest cottage behind the main house. Perhaps a good night's sleep and Grandma Amanda's amazing firstmeal would help her find some perspective before facing the imposing Vulcan patriarch.

She was just inside the entryway, about to turn on the lights, when she heard a strange low growling sound coming from the back of the small house. Moving with light steps toward the sound, she found the doors that led to the back garden open and heard the low, rumbling growl again. Peeking through the opening of the door she saw a large, dark form moving slowly in the darkness. Most of the wildlife roaming the estate were harmless, but on a couple of occasions her grandfather had mentioned finding a wandering le-matra that had managed to work its way through the finely tuned bioforce fields protecting the property.

Noise and light, the le-maytra was a nocturnal creature and feared both. Stealthily, T'Kirk moved toward the light switch near the door. She would flick the garden lights on and scream at the top of her lungs, hopefully the combination would be sufficient to scare the carnivorous beast back to the wilds. Her heart was pounding as her fingers slid along the cool stone wall, feeling the rush of adrenaline as they found the switch. She swallowed hard then flipped it to the on position and screamed at the top of her lungs.

The garden was flooded with bright light and in response the dark menacing figure abruptly morphed into two quite distinct and painfully familiar figures. She hastily switched the lights back off and turned away from the pair, mortified at the sound of clothing fasteners being closed and a stream of pre Reform Vulcan oaths that would blister the paint off the hull of a Constitution Class Starship.

T'Kirk sighed and called out to the garden, "You know, just once it would be nice to come home to find my mother in the kitchen baking cookies like in a normal family!"

"Vulcan mothers don't bake cookies, T'Kirk," her mother said with an easy laugh. She walked into the kitchen as she finished closing the intricate fasteners on her tunic.

"Well they certainly don't…." T'Kirk paused to search for an acceptable word but couldn't find one. "In the garden, I mean really guys, get a room?"

Her father emerged from the darkened garden and regarded his daughter with a raised eyebrow and a puzzled tilt of his head.

"As we were here alone, daughter, there appeared to be no reason to 'get a room' if I am understanding your use of that particular colloquialism."

"There's food in the chiller if you're hungry, sweetheart," her mother said, raking her fingers through her tousled hair.

T'Kirk used the Vulcan controls she'd been taught since childhood to slow the beating of her heart and ease the bright red blush of her cheeks. "You could at least pretend to be embarrassed," she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

Her father examined the platter of grilled root vegetables that T'Kirk had removed from the chiller, and selected a handful of small purple cubes, popping them into his mouth as he regarded his daughter with equanimity.

"I find it highly illogical that you would be so horrified by the very mechanism that is responsible for your existence, T'Kirk."

"Father, it is a universal given that no being wishes to think about the idea of their parents…. you know"-her cheeks were becoming red again- "having…sex. All children wish to believe that their parents don't have sex."

"T'Kirk, the very fact that the children in question have parents-"

"I didn't say it was logical, father. So, I am to believe that you are comfortable with the idea of grandma and grandpa having sex?"

"My parents have never engaged in such activity."

T'Kirk chuckled and shook her head. "Okay, then how did you get here?"

"A sehlat brought me to the front gate in a little basket."

"A basket?" her mother asked.

"That is what my mother told me, Christine," he said with feigned affront, then allowed his eyes to widen as if experiencing an epiphany.

"Oh, Father," T'Kirk said as she embraced him fiercely. "I have missed you so very much."

"The sentiment is mutually held, my child"

At the tender embrace all of the pain and confusion of the past weeks came out in a burst of tears.

"What is wrong, _ko'kan_?" her father asked.

"Everything, Father, everything."


	5. Chapter 5

Spock set a cup of strong black coffee on the bedside table and then sat down on the floor beside the low mattress where their daughter slept peacefully in his wife's arms. He had long abandoned the futile effort to suppress the swell of affection that Christine and their children drew so effortlessly from his logical Vulcan heart.

His attempt at meditation had proved fruitless, and he had spent the remainder of the night replaying in his mind T'Kirk's tearful account of the events that had brought her to Keldeen. His early morning vidcomm to the Director of the Vulcan Science Academy had done little to stem his growing sense of disquiet.

"It is a private matter." It was a Vulcan convention that said nothing and told everything, the closest tradition would allow to speaking of that which was never to be spoken.

As he had expected, his wife, tempted by the aroma of fresh coffee, opened a sleepy eye.

"We must talk, _aduna_ ," he whispered. "It is as we feared."

Christine nodded her assent, then gently disentangled herself from their sleeping child. She picked up the steaming mug and noiselessly followed him down the stone steps to the first floor.

"You called the Academy?" she asked, settling on one of the dining chairs.

"Yes. I believe that this young man, Stovan, is entering the _Pon Farr_."

Christine set the misshapen blue green mug, one of their younger daughter T'Manda's kindergarten craft works, on the table before her and wrapped her arms tightly around herself as if suddenly chilled.

"But why send T'Kirk away?" Her eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me, Spock?"

"Stovan is unbonded."

"I don't understand. T'Kirk said he is traditional Vulcan. Surely his parents would have chosen a bondmate for him after his _kahs-wan_?"

"The Director shared only that he was unbonded, and that in light of the affinity they believed had developed between Stovan and T'Kirk, it was decided, for her safety, to separate them until…"

"Until-"Christine frowned at his hesitation, and then she swallowed hard. "Until he dies?"

"That was, of course, not how the Director phrased it, but essentially accurate."

"This, 'affinity', what does it mean for T'Kirk?"

He reached across the table and took her hand and squeezed it tightly. "It is a somewhat rare phenomenon that occurs with two unbonded adults, a unique connection of two minds that lays a foundation that can lead to a bonding."

"Like we…"

"Yes, as it was with us, aduna."

"But-she's a child, Spock."

"She is our child, my wife, but she is no longer a child." He released her hand and sighed. "This is why I was opposed to her coming here. We tried to give our children the best of each of our cultures and traditions, but we did not prepare T'Kirk for this possibility."

"Then we must do so now, my husband."

.…..

T'Kirk watched impatiently as her mother scurried about the tiny kitchen in the guest house preparing breakfast. She would have preferred to walk up to the main house where her grandmother would be preparing one of her famous morning feasts of Vulcan and Terran delicacies. But her mother had been intractable in her desire to cook breakfast for them here. Then, her father had left them here alone with an excuse as weak as the tea in the Academy break room. No doubt, he was up at the big house feasting on fresh kreyla and her grandmother's warm pineapple scones.

She could not shake the feeling that there was something vaguely familiar about this scene. It was hovering just on the edge of her consciousness, her father's uncharacteristically hasty retreat, her mother, annoyingly perky, fixing breakfast for just the two of them.

"T'Kirk"-her mother said as she placed a plate of fruit and eggs on the table-"when I was your age-"

"Ohmigod—you have got to be kidding me? Seriously-'the birds and the bees' again?"

"Excuse me?"

"If this is another sex talk, mother, I can assure you that with the eyeful I got last night, any possible 'wedding night' mystery has been revealed."

"T'Kirk," her mother said more firmly as she sat down in the chair next to her. "Your father and I made….certain choices about how we would raise our children. We wanted you to appreciate each of our diverse cultures and backgrounds, but it was important to us to allow you each the freedom to choose your own path, to live the life of your own choosing.

"When I met your father"-she shook her head and chuckled-"when I met your father he was the most enormous pain in the ass I'd ever encountered. So of course, I fell madly in love with him. I honestly think there's a genetic streak of masochism in the Chapel women. Anyway, when we first met, I was engaged to someone else, another man, a man named Roger Korby."

T'Kirk knew well the story of how her mother's search for her first love had brought her to the Enterprise where her parents met, but this was the first mention that her relationship with the famed scientist and her proper Vulcan father had overlapped.

"I didn't know it at the time, but your father was already married to a Vulcan woman."

"Father had another wife?"

"Not exactly, they weren't married like your father and I are. They were joined in a traditional Vulcan ritual called bonding."

"Father was bonded?"

"Yes."

"But they didn't marry? Why? What happened?"

"It's difficult to explain. Remember that summer when we went to Uncle Jim's fishing cabin and and we saw the massive schools of salmon swimming upstream to mate?"

"Yes."

"Well, Vulcan males have a similar cycle."

"They swim upstream?"

"No, T'Kirk, they do not 'swim upstream.' When was the last time you saw a stream on Vulcan—or a Vulcan swimming for that matter?" Her mother gave an exasperated sigh followed by a disapproving glare before soldiering on. "If I may continue. Every seven years of an adult Vulcan male's life he enters into a mating cycle called the _Pon_ _Farr_. The man experiences an undeniable biological imperative to mate. It's a burning need so powerful that if the need is denied, madness and death follow. When the male enters the earliest stage of the _Pon Farr_ , he becomes irritable, disoriented, confused, and and as it progresses he can even become violent. The link that is created by the bonding draws the male to his bondmate at the male's first Pon Farr and they are joined together at the _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ , the Vulcan marriage rite."

"But father did not marry her, his bondmate?"

"No, your father's bondmate refused to consummate the bonding. She wished to be joined with another. She invoked the ancient challenge to the bonding. She wished to marry another."

"She chose someone else over father?"

"Yes, I've never been able to see the logic of her decision but I admit to being glad she chose as she did."

"Seven years… so that is why Vulcan families have children that are seven years apart, instead of the _ashu kan'nav_ "

Her mother's eyes narrowed. "Where did you hear that term?"

"Stovan said it to me."

"Yes," her mother said and shook her head. "Despite the principle of IDIC there remains, among some, an intolerance toward children conceived outside of the _Pon Farr_."

"Then you and father…."

"Your older brother was not delivered in a basket by a sehlat."

T'Kirk's eyes widened. "Stovan…"

"From what you told us last night it is likely that he is entering into the middle phase of _Pon Farr_."

"But, how can that be, mother. He has no bondmate?"

Her mother rose from the table and walked to the garden window.

"Are you certain of that, T'Kirk?"

"What do you mean, mother?"

"You have spent a great deal of time with him, daughter."

"Not in that way," she said. But she recalled the part of her trip to Stovan's quarters that she'd been too embarrassed to share with her parents. His touch, hot and needful, had moved through her like a bright ribbon of energy. A feeling she'd never known before, but had identified later as sexual desire. If he had not stopped himself she was uncertain if she would have stopped him.

"The flashes you have described passing between you and Stovan, I'm not sure what they were but your father believes that you may have somehow developed a link between the two of you. A link that would facilitate"-she turned away from T'Kirk and stared out the window—"a mating."

T'Kirk stared at the uneaten meal set out on the table as though she'd never seen food before. Her mind was racing, her heart pounding with the implications of what her mother had said.

"What will happen to Stovan if he is not able to…mate?"

"It is said that some have survived using forms of meditation."

"Some?" she asked, rising from the chair. "How many?"

"Vulcans are so tightlipped, there is no actual data-it's hard to really know."

"Surely there must be some other way?"

"I'm told that...there are women—priestesses"—her mother sighed—"there are sometimes…arrangements that can be made, although among the more orthodox Vulcans, those who still hold to the ancient traditions, it not seen as an acceptable measure"

"But it is acceptable to let a man die? Where is the logic in that?"

T'Kirk picked up the antique pottery dish from the table and threw it against the quarried tile backsplash. It exploded, showering the counter with a colorful cascade of eggs, fruit, and ceramic shards.

T'Kirk stormed out of the kitchen and back upstairs to her bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

"Spock, have you even heard a single word I've said?"

"Yes, mother," he said, keeping a keen eye on the guest cottage. "You would find it pleasing for the children to stay on for a few days, which I would also find most agreeable. I would like to take Christine out hiking around Mount Selyna and perhaps camp there overnight. Father is not eating enough, a theory you have posited since before my birth and yet miraculously, contrary to all human logic, he still lives. I am in agreement that my wife works far too hard, but she is her own person and I make no claim to the necessary influence over her behavior to adjust her work schedule. I am pleased that Saavik'kam has been by so often to see you, and accept the inference that I, by default, have not been here to see you nearly so often.

"I have missed you as well, mother," he added with a faint trace of a smile. As if to underscore the sentiment he retrieved a pineapple scone from the platter and took a large bite. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of VSA green darting by the dining room window and rose to see T'Kirk marching briskly toward the front gate, a travel sack slung over one shoulder.

Christine was hot on her trail, calling angrily after their daughter. He hurried out the front door just in time to cut off T'Kirk's path as her mother came up from behind.

"Where do you think you're going?" Christine asked, trying to catch her breath.

"I need to talk to Stovan," she answered, hoisting up her bag and walking toward the gate.

"That is not, perhaps, a wise choice, my daughter," Spock said.

"What makes any one choice wiser than another, Father? I need to see him. I need to talk with him."

"There is a strong possibility that he will not wish to see you, T'Kirk."

"Then he can tell me that himself, Father."

Spock turned to Christine who simply shrugged her shoulders. "You are most certainly your mother's daughter, T'Kirk." He closed in on her and took the travel sack from her shoulder.

Spock turned to address his mother who was watching them from the front porch.

"We will be gone for an indeterminate amount of time. I trust that you will not mind caring for the needs of Seleek and T'Manda until our return?"

It was midday as Spock landed Sarek's sleek aircar onto the small parking lot near the faculty housing area. Few faculty members or students were in possession of private transportation and thus there were only a handful of parking areas in the compound. They would still have an appreciable walk to Stovan's cottage.

The heat was again in triple digits, and even Spock was uncomfortable as the trio proceeded along the stone path. Fortunately, they had paused long enough before leaving Keldeen to retrieve Christine's medical bag and clothing more suitable to the blistering afternoon winds.

They had formulated and agreed upon a plan for this questionable endeavor. More precisely, he had formulated a plan and the two women had been given the choice to accept the plan or the alternative, which was to be dropped off at the Vulcan Council quarters where he would install them under Sarek's watchful eyes while he proceeded without them.

Seeing the undeniable logic of the situation the two women had agreed, although rather unenthusiastically, to his terms. The plan was a simple one. The women would wait on the path, out of sight of the sandstone cottage. He would go on alone to call on Stovan and determine how far the Pon Farr had progressed. Based on the sketchy information T'Kirk had provided there was a good possibility that the young man was at least a day away from entering the Plak Tow and would not pose a serious threat to the women. If, however, Stovan had already entered the Plak Tow, it would be too dangerous to allow T'Kirk or even Christine to be in a confined space with the man, and they would return to ShiKahr.

T'Kirk pointed out Stovan's cabin and cast her father a withering look as he again admonished mother and daughter to remain where they were until he returned for them. He moved quickly along the path, realizing that the chances of his wife and daughter actually remaining there for any real length of time were too minute to bother computing.

Spock pressed the door chime, and looking back over his shoulder was pleasurably surprised to find neither Christine nor T'Kirk on his heels. He pressed the chime again, his inborn sense of Vulcan manners dictating that even in invading Stovan's privacy some amount of decorum must be maintained.

"Stovan" he said into the small speaker next to the chime. "I am Spock, the father of T'Kirk. It is imperative that I speak with you."

He sensed a presence on the other side of the door and sighed gratefully at the gentle scraping sound of the metal gliding over the sandpitted stone.

He steeled himself, knowing that if Stovan's mind had been claimed by the fires of the Plak Tow he would view another male as a rival and would in all likeliness attack him. An unsettling vision of his Captain's dark red blood staining the hot, white sands of the site of his failed koon-ut-kal-if-fee washed over him like a summer sandstorm. That first taste of the madness and the ultimate shame of his loss of control, though decades' old, still lingered in his soul, hot and bitter.

But it was not Stovan who appeared as the doors parted, and nothing could have possibly prepared him for the shock of what he saw beyond that door.

"Who is she?" T'Kirk asked, as she and her mother approached from behind him.

Spock grabbed at the door frame to steady himself. The woman stepped out onto the stone porch, regarding him with a look of icy distain.

Turning her gaze to Christine and T'Kirk she said simply.

"I am called T'Pring."


	7. Chapter 7

Christine struggled to calm her trembling hand as she accepted the steaming cup of tea from T'Pring. The petite woman was even more exquisitely beautiful than she had been on that terrible day so many years ago, when she stood on the Bridge of the Enterprise and heard Spock say the seven words that had broken her heart.

 _"_ _She is T'Pring. She is my wife."_

Even after nearly three decades, the memory of standing on the bridge of the Enterprise and praying to every god of the universe to open the durasteel decking to open up beneath her and swallow her whole remained. Only seven words, but enough, enough to break her sprit-enough to crush her dreams.

.

She stole a furtive glance at her husband, attempting to gauge his reaction to seeing his former bondmate after so many years. But of course he was Vulcan-the whole point was not to show a reaction. She shifted her gaze to the silent man seated beside T'Pring. Christine lowered her eyes and kept them on the cup of bitter tea before her. She would not cause dishonor for Spock by gawking at T'Pring's husband. T'Pring, apparently had no similar concerns as her eyes seemed to blaze a hole right through T'Kirk.

"After the…incident, it became necessary to relinquish our family position on the Council and take leave of our home in ShiKahr. It had been our hope, after time had passed, to return there, but the elders did not see the wisdom of that hope. We made discreet overtures toward a number of families in the hopes of securing a bondmate for our son…but none proved fruitful."

The incident indeed-well Christine would give T'Pring one thing, the woman was the master of understatement. She had betrayed Spock by invoking the ancient challenge to the bonding so that she might marry the grim stone faced man seated beside her. That heartless duplicity had almost cost Jim Kirk his life and Spock his sanity. Now they were all sitting down to tea like long lost friends. It was just so very Vulcan.

"My son has withdrawn to the desert to await that which is to come."

"I grieve with thee, and with thy house." Spock bowed his head toward Stonn and T'Pring, as if by falling back on the traditional formalities he could ease the uncomfortable situation.

"We must find him, father," T'Kirk said as she sprung to her feet.

"This is a private matter," T'Pring said, fixing T'Kirk with the Vulcan version of a glare.

"My child, retake your seat," Spock said. It was the third time she had risen, and Christine could sense Spock's concern over their daughter's restive state through their bond. Was it possible, that even now Stovan's mind was calling to T'Kirk? How could that be, without a complete bonding, and their daughter not a full Vulcan? And yet, she, not a Vulcan at all, had felt Spock's call to her from much farther away.

"Is the tea not to your liking?"

Christine realized that T'Pring was addressing her. "It is fine, thank you."

"Yet you do not drink it?"

"My mother takes honey in her tea, as do I," T'Kirk said.

Spock's lips had barely parted to admonish her for her breach of Vulcan etiquette when T'Kirk rose again from her chair and walked purposefully into the kitchen. She opened the small cabinet near the chiller and took out an opalescent glass jar. She hesitated for a moment, and Christine saw T'Kirk remove something from the cabinet, which she secreted in the pocket of her robe.

Returning to the dining room, she placed the jar on the table before her mother, smiling graciously as though she was the hostess here, entertaining in her own home. "I believe, mother, that that you will find this to your liking."

Christine eyed the viscous substance with thinly veiled suspicion, but lifted the exquisite vessel and poured some into the nauseatingly bitter tea. She took a cautious sip of the now tepid beverage and was rewarded with a sweet almost citrus taste.

"You have a surprising familiarity with the domestic arrangements here," T'Pring said.

"Stovan was not much of a cook," T'Kirk said. "I did most of the shopping and cooking."

"My son took his meals at the shi'oren yokul-mahr-kel with his colleagues."

"He has not dined there in many months. We preferred to take our meals here," T'Kirk answered, her eyes cool and imperious.

"It is illogical that my son would prefer to take his meals with qomi…" the word escaped her perfectly painted lips before she could contain it.

"T'Pring." It was the first time the taciturn Stonn had spoken.

"We shall take our leave," Spock said. He rose from the table and touched Christine's arm.

"No offense is intended," T'Pring said, bowing her head slightly and adopting the formal Vulcan tone.

"I continue to find your bigotry most illogical, T'Pring. It is an affront to the IDIC. It is an affront to the teachings of Surek."

"I must appologize for my wife." Stonn rose from the table and cast a stern glance at T'Pring. "Her logic has been compromised by her regard for our son."

"The cause is sufficient," Spock responded, slipping back into the ritual. "Wife, daughter, attend."

Stonn walked them to the front door, then followed them out to the stone path.

"T'Kirk," Stonn began hesitantly. "My son spoke of you in his most recent communication to me. He held you in the very greatest regard, child. It is my belief that Stovan would wish for you to have this knowledge."

T'Kirk's eyes softened. "Thank you."

"One does not thank logic, child." Stonn stared off into the orange afternoon sky. "You were correct, Spock, the wanting was indeed more pleasing than the having… but Stovan… somehow he made the having pleasing."

He turned back toward them raising his right hand in the ancient Vulcan salute." Live long and prosper"

"Peace and long life, Stonn."

T'Kirk stole silently into Sarek's deserted study. She could still hear her parents and grandfather in the dining room discussing this most recent turn of events. It had been a day of mind-boggling revelations. During the ride back to the ShiKahr townhouse, T'Kirk had been able to piece together some of the facts gleaned from her parent's cryptic conversation.

Stovan's mother, T'Pring, had been her father's bondmate, the one who had chosen to break the bond using a centuries old, and rarely used tenet of Vulcan law requiring her bondmate to fight another to the death for the right to mate.

It seemed to T'Kirk an unthinkably barbaric tactic for one who claimed to hold to the Vulcan ways. Because of T'Pring's invocation of challenge, her father had been forced to fight his captain, a man who was like a brother to him, the man for whom she had been named. Somehow, her father had won the fight, but Uncle Jim, quite obviously, had lived. But rather than mate with the conniving little witch, her father had given her to Stonn, Stovan's father.

Stovan? Gone? No. She could not accept that. She reached into the pocket of her tunic and withdrew the tiny data chip she'd found in the cupboard in Stovan's quarters. She turned it over in her hand, looking at her name written on the casing in Stovan's tight, precise script. Carefully she popped it onto her grandfather's computer and the screen came alive with the image of Stovan's face.

"T'Kirk," he said, then bowed his head for a moment as if gathering his thoughts before continuing, "I hope that you are not experiencing excessive grief for me. It has been most pleasing for me to know you and experience your friendship. It is ironic, that in the last of my life, even as death was waiting most impatiently for me, I have felt more alive than at any other time in my life. The time that we have spent together has meant more to me than I would be able to express, so I will not attempt it.

"I know that I hurt you with the things I said. It was the only way that I knew to make you leave before I did something that would have hurt you far more. It is my last hope that you will find it within yourself to forgive me. I have gone to the desert to spare my family the dishonor of this madness, this curse that is the Vulcan legacy.

"I would ask you a favor, little one. Stop trying so hard to be Vulcan. Do not extinguish the sweet flame that burns within you. Marry a man who can be the husband to you that I could never be.

"Goodbye, my friend, I go to dance with the goddesses."

T'Kirk sobbed, touching her fingers to the face on the viewscreen. She heard the soft hiss of the study door opening and the soft footsteps that brought her mother to her side.

"Oh mother, how will I ever marry another man? How will I love any man but him?"


	8. Chapter 8

The townhouse was quiet. Sarek had retired early to meditate. Christine checked on her daughter who slept fitfully in one of the guest suites. Her husband was not in their room and she found herself drawn to the rooftop garden.

She found Spock, exactly as she had found him on that balmy Vulcan night twenty years ago. He was sitting cross-legged on one of the benches along the perimeter of the roof, gazing out over the city of his birth. He was wearing a loose silken evening robe that flowed sensually in the soft evening breeze.

"I should have known that you would come to me that night," he said without turning toward her. "I specifically told you not to follow me. You are unable to resist a challenge."

She moved against his back and wrapped her arms tenderly around him, burying her face in his soft hair.

"You said it to me in Vulcan," she responded. "I did not speak Vulcan, not then anyway."

"I did?" he asked, leaning back into her embrace. "As I recall, I was not thinking very clearly at the time."

"You said you didn't love me."

"I did not love you, not then, not as a human would love you."

"No, I understand that now."

"The pain as the Plak Tow neared, it was unbearable."

"But you bore it," she said stroking his hair.

"Because you came to me."

"You called me to you, across galaxies, then you sent me away."

"It seemed logical in the moment."

"Logical?"

"I was afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Afraid that every tender feeling you held for me would be crushed by the burning, afraid that I could not be the husband that you required, the husband that you deserved. Have I been that husband to you, my wife?"

"Yes husband, you are k'hat'n'dlawa, the other half of my heart and soul,"

"As are you, my wife." Gently he turned around and embraced her. "When I saw T'Pring today, I saw…. I saw everything that my life might have been. Cold, empty…" he pulled her tightly against him. "This young man, Stovan, "T'Kirk loves him?"

"Yes,"

"Should I forbid her to go to him? I trust that would speed things up considerably."

Christine punched Spock's shoulder and rolled her eyes. "Is there a way to find him?"

"As the time gets closer his mind will summon her, as it was with us. He will fight it as long as possible, but there will be a short window before he sinks into the Plak Tow when he will not be able to fight any longer."

"If we can get close enough to where he's gone, T'Kirk will be drawn to him?"

"It is the only chance."

T'Kirk awoke to the gentle touch of her mother's hand. In the soft light filtering in through the open door she could see the backlit form of her father.

"We must talk, T'Kirk," her mother said softly.

T'Kirk sat up, shaking off the haze of sleep as her mother sat down beside her. Her father, silent, remained in the doorway.

"Your father believes there may be a way to find Stovan using the link that has formed between your minds."

T'Kirk looked to her father then back to her mother. "We must go now," she said, reaching for her robe on the nightstand.

"Not yet," her mother responded. "Before we try this your father and I need to be certain you understand what is involved if we do find him. The Pon Farr is more than simply mating. It is a thread stretching from the earliest times on this planet, before the Awakening, before Surak. It is future generations demanding audience, it's the very fabric of life seeking to renew itself, to recombine and re-express itself.

It's-terrifying, yet in its own way it is also beautiful. Everything you think you know about yourself, the veneer we construct to hide ourselves from the judgement of others, it is all stripped away. For the male, the loss of control, the loss of self, brings madness."

"Madness?" T'Kirk asked, her voice trembling.

Her mother responded with a somber nod. "The physical joining itself will not be enough. There must be a mental and emotional joining as well, a complete joining of your selves. You will need to lead him back to himself before the madness claims your mind as well. If you cannot…"

"If you cannot"-her father's voice came from the doorway—"you will both be lost."

"If I do nothing we are both lost."

Her father moved hesitantly into the room. "There are times, my child, when life presents us with a fork in the path we have chosen for ourselves. We must make a choice without knowing what will lie further down either path."

"The lady or the tiger?"

He nodded gently. "In choosing one thing, by default, one sacrifices other choices, other possible paths. The choices we make have consequences we cannot foresee, like tossing a pebble into a pond, the ripples move out finding their own path.

"Sometimes one finds the lady beyond the door, sometimes one finds the tiger." He reached his arm around her and stroked her mother's cheek. "And, occasionally one finds a bit of both. This must be your choice, my daughter."

"I am decided, Father, we must proceed."

T'Pring regarded the pair of hooded figures in her front garden with suspicion, before she recognized them and reluctantly opened the heavy door.

"It is highly unusual to receive visitors at this time of the evening," she said.

"This is not a social call, T'Pring," Christine responded.

"Indeed. Then what business brings the two of you, uninvited, to this household at this hour?"

"You said Stovan went to the desert. Where in the desert?"

"He said only the desert. Why can you not understand, this is a private matter."

"What I understand,"T'Kirk said, "Is that Stovan will die if we don't find him. How can that not matter to you?"

"You do not understand, there is nothing you can do. Kaiidith."

"The wisest man I know once told me there are always possibilities," Christine said.

"There are no possibilities that can save my son, Terran."

"Spock and I believe that T'Kirk might be able to save him."

"My son will not mate with qomi."

The words had barely escaped T'Prings lips when she felt the sharp sting of Christine's hand across her face. The force sent her reeling back against the tiled wall of the entryway.

"Never, never speak like that to my daughter again, you cold hearted bitch. I will ask you again, T'Pring. Will you help us to find Stovan.?"

"I have told you the truth," T'Pring responded as she rubbed her cheek. "I do not know where he has gone."

"Dancing with the goddesses," T'Kirk said. "He said he was going to 'dance with the goddesses'."

"T'alv'lor? We have a small piece of property that belonged to Stonn's family. There are ruins there from before the time of Surak. The local legends claim they are statues of the ancient mothergods. We would go there together when Stovan was a young boy. He would always tell everyone he was going to dance with the goddesses."

"How far is it from here?" Christine asked.

"It is not far. I can tell you the way."


	9. Chapter 9

Spock leaned back against the aircar as he surveyed the modest home where Stonn and T'Pring resided. It was, most certainly, a far cry from his ancestral homes in ShiKahr and the estate at Keldeen. An old memory flashed through his mind. The cold appraising look in T'Pring's eyes the first time she'd seen his family estate at Keldeen. Through their fledgling bondlink he'd felt her pleasure at the knowledge that one day she would be the mistress of that home. There had been another thought though, one he'd not fully understood at the time: This would be her recompense for the indignity of joining herself to his tainted bloodline.

He noted the soft sound of rustling fabric and the light feminine steps of his wife and daughter approaching from the small garden in front of the house He had acquiesced to his wife's suggestion that he remain outside, the logic being that T'Pring might be less likely to allow her maternal emotions to surface in his presence. Though he highly doubted his former bondmate harbored any warm maternal feelings, he had no particular desire to spend any more time in her presence

Spock programed the coordinates to T'alv'lor into the computer of the aircar as Christine slid into the seat beside him and the three of them sped off into the darkened desert.

"Can you pass me my medical bag, T'Kirk?" Christine leaned back to the seat where her daughter was sitting. "I think I may have fractured a couple of metacarpals."

Spock looked over at his wife and noticed that she was rubbing her right hand gingerly.

"What happened back there?" he asked.

"Nothing," Christine responded.

"It is hardly nothing, Christine, your hand is swelling."

"Mother slapped T'Pring."

"Christine?"

"You should have seen the look on her face, Father. She never saw it coming."

"I can not imagine that she did," Spock responded, struggling to shield his amusement.

"She was asking for it," Christine said.

"Indeed. So the decision to behave so barbarically was based on logic, my wife?"

"I assure you, husband, the cause was sufficient."

…..

T'Kirk stared into the quiet Vulcan night. T'Kuht, Vulcan's sister planet, rose from the east, her crimson glow softly illuminating the desert landscape. In the front seat of the aircar, her parents talked softly, their tone warm and intimate. Her father reached over to her mother, resting his hand tenderly on hers, and T'Kirk felt a comforting swell of affection through the familial bond she shared with her parents. She'd grown up surrounded in their love. The very obvious love they had for one another, and the love they had for her and each of her brothers and sister. She was not certain when she first realized her family was quite different from the families of her friends. On Terra, and particularly in San Francisco where so many Fleeters made their homes, term marriages were common, and most of her friends had an endless series of step parents.

"Vulcans marry for life, little one." Her father had assured her gently.

For life. Would Stovan ever love her as her father loved her mother? And what of her? Would she be able to love and accept Stovan and his Vulcan nature completely? Would there be anything left for them after the burning?

"Just up ahead," she heard her father say as the thrusters on the aircar downshifted. He set the car down on a flat piece of land less than 100 meters from the ancient stone megaliths.

The air had cooled considerably but the sand under her feet was still quite warm. Her father was carefully fastening a back pack on her mother, snapping a communicator and a phaser onto the outside flap. She couldn't make out the words he spoke to her, but the tone in his deep voice was deathly serious. T'Kirk closed her eyes and reached out through the gentle desert breeze for Stovan's presence but felt nothing. A moment of despair swept through her. What if they were already too late; what if Stovan was lying dead in one of the dozens of caves on the hills above them?

No, she protested, he was here somewhere. Yes, yes… the certainty of his presence flooded her perceptions. Hot, she was suddenly so very hot, it was as if her skin was on fire.

"He is here."

"You feel him?" her father asked as he made a final check of her mother's pack.

"Yes."

"T'Kirk, there is no dishonor in changing your mind, my daughter."

"I am decided, father."

He nodded his agreement. "I will wait here. If Stovan were to sense the presence of another male it could provoke him to violence. Christine, if he is already in the Plak Tow and senses T'Kirk you understand what you must do." Her mother looked down to the phaser clipped to her pack and nodded gravely.

Spock watched as the two women disappeared up the sandy path, then set himself to the building of a small fire. Settling down before the dancing flame, he called upon the ancestors to grant his daughter strength for what was to come this night.

Nearly twenty years ago he too had walked such a path into the desert. As was the custom, he had fled to the desert to face the end and spare his family his madness. Closing his eyes he recalled how he had stared deeply into the flame in a futile effort to halt the burning madness that had been encroaching on his consciousness. He had not known it was possible to feel such pain and still live, and he had understood in that moment the end must be approaching soon.

 _"Christine?" His mind had reached for her through the starlit desert outside of the small cave where he'd secreted himself._

 _"Illogical," he chided himself. Christine was most likely on the overnight shuttle bound for Terra, it was difficult to be certain, his inborn sense of time appeared to be no longer functioning, the first casualty to this fever burning within him._

 _"She is safe." He sighed with a brief sense of relief. The rooftop, he had been meditating in the rooftop garden of his ancestral home in ShiKahr. The pain as the forces of the Plak Tow gathered themselves within him had been excruciating. He had cried out to the ancestors for succor, but if they had heard his plea they remained silent._

 _She had come out of the shadows, moving toward him, unexpectedly sweet, like a cool breeze in the desert heat._

 _"I'm unarmed," she'd said with a light melodic laugh and then had held her arms up over her head in mock surrender turning around slowly before him. "See, no soup." Then she had offered herself to him, as casually as if she'd offered to share a sandwich. He had wanted her, more than he'd wanted anything in his entire life. But he had summoned up the last vestige of honor within himself and sent her away. He had allowed himself the small pleasure that he had been strong enough to spare her this. But he did not delude himself into believing he could continue to defy the power of the ancient curse much longer. He had hastily gathered a few things together and fled to the desert to face the end in solitude._

 _Another wave of fiery pain gripped him, and he turned within himself to find some tattered thread of his Vulcan control. The tide subsided, but he knew the respite would be short lived, perhaps an hour or two at most. The next wave would pull him under, pull him down into the madness. He crawled to the blanket he'd spread across the stone floor, reverently touching the white burial robe he had so carefully laid out._

 _"It is my wedding night," he had whispered as his fingers explored the smooth, pristine white cloth bearing his clan symbol. "I have come at last to claim my bride."_

 _He had struggled to his feet, then stripped off the roughly woven travel robe he was wearing. He'd felt a stirring within him, something fragrant and cool moved over his fevered body. A woman, no, not simply a woman, it was her. It was 'his' woman_


End file.
